


Find a way

by temperatezone



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21652933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temperatezone/pseuds/temperatezone
Summary: A last minute assignment is nearly too much for a poor student stressed out of their mind. Good thing the campus librarian and a rogue professor are looking out for them. My contribution to the Good Omen Holiday Swap.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 88
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Swap 2019





	Find a way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miss_minnelli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_minnelli/gifts).



> This is the first thing that I've finished in a while. Pretty dialog heavy, and I got a little distracted by Jurassic Park, but I think it still fulfills the prompt of fluffy college AU. Hope you enjoy it!

Alexis is crying in the back room of the campus library, with only the walls of supply cabinets and the antique photocopier for company. The setting being so pitiful only makes them cry harder. It had been a while since they hid in the library to cry their heart out: it had to mean that they’re getting better at managing their stress, right? They’re getting better at eating three times a day and sleeping seven hours a night. (Okay, six, but progress is progress.) They’re doing fine, and they would have gone on doing fine, if not for this last minute assignment. 

Stupid bullshit assignment! Stupid asshole professor Sandalphon! Stupid useless course plan! They’re a math major, why do they have to take a science course? Why did they choose biology? If they fail, and they will because Sandalphon has it in for them, their grades, only a little bit above average, will drop below the admission point. 

Maybe, just maybe, if they can somehow gather their courage and swallow their pride and beg at the administrations desk, they might just be given a semester of grace to try and get their average back up, but with an F dragging the curve down, they are unlikely to succeed. Besides, from what they’ve heard, the admins tend to make the students who come ask for extensions and exceptions regret their life choices whether or not those exemptions are granted, and they usually aren’t. 

They’ll be kicked out of the program. Biology was an elective, for Heaven’s sake! Who gets kicked out of college over an elective?! 

Their own fault for arguing with a professor, even if the professor was a creationist teaching biology. Alexis didn’t realize how bad the situation was; it had been the first class of the semester, the conversation lasted ten minutes, if that. But it was all it took to get in Sandalphon’s bad book. The man held a grudge like no other. He’d tried to flunk them the old fashioned way, with undeserved bad grades, but thankfully an upperclassman and warned them about Sandalphon (a little too late, but better than never) and helped arranged for a different bio professor to re-grade their homework and tests. Which in hindsight probably only made Sandalphon angrier. And now they have to write an essay, that they'll have to defend in class, explaining why the Tyrannosaurus Rex have vision based on movement in Jurassic Park! Bullshit! Stupid bullshit!

Sounds ring through the deserted library; a door opening, footsteps getting closer, voices raised in conversation. They dry their eyes as best they can, no point in adding insult to injury getting caught crying in an empty room. They recognize one of the voices; it’s Mr. Fell, the librarian who had been really strange and off-putting at first, but who turned out to be a teddy-bear of a human being, as long as you didn’t try to take a book out of the library. He’d been the one to let them use the backroom to do homework, and sometimes to eat lunch in peace because the dorms and the dining hall became too much. They weren’t going to repay that kindness by embarrassing them both with tears. 

“Don’t see why we should have this conversation every time, is what I’m saying.”

“Maybe if you listened when I say that this time is the last time, and that we really can’t do this anymore…”

“You and I both know that you don’t really mean it, though.”

“I do mean it, Crowley! What we’re doing now is illegal! My position and yours are in danger if we get caught…”

“We won’t.”

“Piracy is a short term solution to a long-term problem…”

“Long-term solutions take too long, and people are struggling now. It would be immoral not to act to assist them. I know you agree with me on this.”

“Besides all that, today is just not a good day for me.”

“The sooner we get this done, the more plausible deniability we have if we get caught. Which we won’t. Anyway, what’s wrong with today?”

The owner of the voice pushes the door open just as they finish the sentence. Alexis only has the time to make a quick survey (tall, skinny, short spiked red hair, dark and form-fitting clothes, carrying an enormous duffel bag) before they find themselves pinned under a sunglasses-covered gaze. They hold completely still, feeling a little like a mouse under the gaze of a snake, when Mr. Fell stepped in front of them in a protective gesture. This made Alexis feel better, if for no other reason than Mr. Fell blocked them from the stranger’s line of sight completely. However harmless and silly he looked with his curly blond hair and his velvet waistcoat, he had a solid (not muscular, but solid and impressive nonetheless) build that would intimidate his enemies and reassure their victims.

“I have a guest here.”

“So I see.” The stranger (Crowley? As in Professor Crowley?!) continues to study Alexis for a good long time; they couldn’t tell from the perfect poker face, but the result must have been positive if the next words were anything to go by. “I’m here to make photocopies of some of the more expensive textbooks other teachers will make you all buy next semester, so I can distribute them to students who’ll need them. Want in on that?”

“Uhh…” That is not a sentence they ever expected to hear; not ever, but especially not from that person.

Professor Anthony Crowley has a reputation around campus; the reputation of being most disorganized, chaotic nut-job who was even issued a license to teach. Alexis got those stories from friends who had been in Astronomy 101 and lived to tell the tale. No notes online, no PowerPoint or even old fashioned slides during the class; it’s all 2 hours of lectures with the occasional note scribbled on the blackboard in the worse handwriting outside of a hospital. The value of each exam in the final grade was decided by the students democratically, which in the classroom of Professor Crowley is defined not as “majority rules” but as “everyone agrees, and we don’t stop talking until that happens, however long it takes”. More than one Intro-level student has called Professor Crowley a demon from Hell. The only exception among Alexis’s friends is Mackenzie, the one who impressed the professor enough to be admitted in the advanced seminar, and who would now defend them from anyone, to the death if need be.

Learning that Professor Crowley is part of a textbook piracy ring, distributing his ill-gotten gain Robin Hood style, makes Alexis want to agree with Mackenzie. Though they still have plenty of question, like what does Mr. Fell have to do with all of this? Is he just letting the professor use the library equipment? Does he do more? Why?

“What textbooks do you have? Maybe you don’t cover any of my subjects.” That is also a question they have, and it is reasonably to give it some priority. After all, even with a duffel bag of supply, there are only so many copies of so many books Professor Crowley could make. They weren’t going to call dibs on something they might not even need.

Of course, there’s also the real possibility that they wouldn’t need any of them because they were about to get kicked out of their program, but they’re not thinking about that right now.

“Good question… what’s your name?”

“Alexis.”

“Right, nice to meet you. Anyway, good question, Alexis.” Professor Crowley turns to face Mr. Fell. “What textbooks do we have?”

Mr. Fell and Professor Crowley stare at each other for a long time, while Alexis tries to stay as still and as quiet as possible. They’re afraid that they made Mr. Fell angry, and Mr. Fell has been cool with them since he learned that they prefer to do their reading and their homework inside the library anyway.

(Had they known Fell and Crowley better, as in much, much better than any student on campus ever got to know the odd couple, they would have known that Mr. Fell was not angry with them at all. His stare would translate into something like “I wish you wouldn’t involve Alexis into your schemes, my dear, they really are quite a nice young person.” Crowley’s return stare could be interpreted as “I’m sure they are, but the whole textbook piracy ring falls apart if the students don’t get involved, angel.”)

After what feels like a solid hour of staring (but what is probably only a minute, two at most) Mr. Fell sighs. “I only have about two-thirds of the books at the moment. One of my distributors has been delayed. I don’t suppose that will convince you to delay this particular project of yours for a week or so.”

“Nah, this works out just fine. I can make more copies of the ones you have now, and come back with some more supplies in a week for the rest.”

“Of course you’d say that, my dear. I’ll go and fetch them now, shall I?”

Mr. Fell leaves the room without waiting for an answer. Professor Crowley drops the duffel bag on the ground and collapses onto a chair next to Alexis. “So… youth. What’s your major then?”

What did Professor Crowley just call them? “Youth?”

“Feels more appropriate than making a snap judgement about gender identity, which only has a fifty percent accuracy rate. I thought you millennials were all about gender-neutral language and being inclusive and so on. Would you prefer boy or girl, then?”

“I would prefer if you used my name, which I just told you. If that was your way of asking about my gender, it’s awkward AF, but also I use they/them.”

“Ah, the singular they. A classic, from the late middle ages. Did you know that? Linguists have traced it to 1375.”

Alexis shakes their head. “I knew that Shakespeare and Chaucer used it in their writing.” It was one of the first thing they learned about the singular they pronoun, and one of its best defenses: if it’s good enough for Shakespeare, it’s good enough for me and you. “Do you…” Are they about to ask Professor Crowley for their pronouns? Yes, yes they are. “Are they/them your pronouns too?”

“Occasionally. I’m going by He right now, but I’ve also used She, and probably will again in the future. Here.” Professor Crowley shoved the sleeve of his jacket up, showing his wrist and the red bracelet on it. “This is how you can tell, so you don’t have to ask every time we meet. Which will probably happen if you continue spending lots of time in the library, or if I had to do some emergency subs in one of you classes. You haven’t told me what your major is, by the way.”

“Math. You use red for He?”

“Yep. Red for He, blue for She, and grey for Them. Wondering why I’m not playing up the lazy cliché of pink for She and blue for He?”

“My roommate uses pink blue and yellow for she, he and they, and wears the three of them together to make the Pan flag to wear for Pride.”

“Anthony Crowley.” Mr. Fell had returns with a big pile of brand new textbooks, still wrapped in cling film. The flimsy protection is ideal against liquids and other staining agents, but it would do little against impact damage, and so the books are carefully placed in a methodical pile on the table. “Are you being rude to my guest?”

“Who, me? Rude? Of course not! I was just about to compliment Alexis’s friend on their creativity and thriftiness. Re-using identification bracelets as an extra accessory for Pride. It’s brilliant!”

“Didn’t I hear you call the connection between pink and femininity a lazy cliché just a moment ago?”

“That’s just me refusing to give Adolf Hitler an inch. The man doesn’t deserve to have any kind of recognition in this day and age, angel.”

“Quite right. Even so, I’m afraid we’re in the wrong universe when it comes to terrible people getting their just deserts.”

Professor Crowley grumbles unintelligibly, opening his duffel bag and taking out reams of paper. Mr. Fell turns to face Alexis. “I was just about to go put the kettle on for tea. Would you like some?”

Hitler? Angel? Tea? “I feel so confused.” Alexis feels like that might just be the stupidest thing they have ever said, but literally nothing else would come out of their mouth.

“I’d be happy to answer any questions you might have, within reason of course. Let’s go make that tea first, shall we?” 

Mr. Fell takes them to his office, where he keeps an electric kettle and some instant tea with a collection of mismatched mugs.

“To be honest, my dear, you’re doing me a great favor by giving me an excuse to be here. I simply cannot stand to watch Crowley break the spines of those books, even for a good cause. Now, I believe you have some questions.”

“You call him Crowley.”

Which is not a question, but Mr. Fell doesn’t point that out. He only smiles. “Yes. That is his name, after all.”

“He calls you angel.”

“Ah, yes. Not to go too far into our personal lives, which I’m sure you would not care to hear about at any rate,” the smile becomes a touch sardonic here, “it’s a play on my own name. Ezra Fell?” 

Mr. Fell makes a point of emphasizing the last two syllables, as if it should mean something to Alexis. They shrug, still confused. 

“Have you by any chance heard of the book of Tobit?” 

They shake their head. 

“It’s from the bible. One of the deuterocanonical books. Extra canon, you could say. Feel free to look it up at some point, it’s quite interesting. In any case, the pun isn’t that clever out of context, or without the copious amounts of alcohol involved, but it is a reminder of our first meeting.”

“Professor Crowley knows enough about obscure extra-canon bible books to joke about them when he’s drunk?”

“He does.”

“And he said he might end up subbing for one of my classes, before I told him what my major is. Does he do that often, emergency subs? Don’t you have to know the subject, well enough to answer the questions students might have?”

“I think you over-estimate the capacity of the general substitute teacher, my dear. Most of them simply follow a guide set up by the teacher. But in Crowley’s case, he does often know the subject well enough to teach the class himself. Or at the very least, enough to make the regular teacher very uncomfortable when they return and have to answer the questions that Crowley brought up in class. Astronomy is his primary subject matter, but he has also given lessons on botany, philosophy, religious studies, literature and history, that I know of.”

History. That reminded them of something. “What was that about Hitler and pink?”

“The color pink was not associated with femininity until World War 2, when Hitler used a pink triangle as the mark of the homosexuals he sent to his death camps. Before then, blue was the more feminine color, associated with life-giving water and with the ocean and the tides, which connected to the moon and therefore to the menstrual cycle, or some such, while red was the more masculine color, associated with fire and blood and all that non-sense.”

Alexis takes a minute to parse the information out. “But… so, it’s not Hitler that’s wrong here. I mean, Hitler was wrong, about basically everything and all the time, but in this case, he was just a part of the bigger system. It’s heteronormativity that’s at fault here, saying that wanting to have sex with a man makes you a woman. Am I making sense?”

“You are,” there was a definitive wicked gleam in Mr. Fell’s eyes as he answered. “And I hope Crowley brings up the subject again in front of you, so you can make that exact point. I can’t wait to see how he would respond to that.”

Alexis sips their tea slowly as they watch Mr. Fell giggle under his breath. The more they think about it, the more the idea of a relationship between Mr. Fell and Professor Crowley makes sense.

The two were sort of mirror images of each other, in a way. Mr. Fell looked like the personification of soft and comfy but he could secretly be a hard-ass, while Professor Crowley had a well-earned reputation for being a genuine bastard but also had a secret soft side. Besides, they were both smart, and uncool in different ways but to an equal level. The baby-blue and cream combo with tartan accents of Mr. Fell wasn’t making even the pretense of being cool, but he wore it with the confidence that was 90% of fashion. Professor Crowley, on the other hand, was trying so hard with the skin tight all black look that it was cringe to watch. 

Not that Alexis would say that to Professor Crowley’s face. He might have a soft side, but he was still faculty, and they had only met 20 minutes ago.

“I don’t think I’ll get the chance, seeing as this is probably my last semester at this college.”

“Oh, are you transferring somewhere? I hadn’t heard about that, how amazing! Please tell me more.”

“I’m not transferring, Mr. Fell. Professor Sandalphon is going to flunk me over the stupid Jurassic Park assignment and my grades aren’t good enough to take an F so I’m going to be kicked out of the program.”

“Oh, dear child! I’m so sorry, I never realized how bad things were for you. I could go talk to someone else in the department, perhaps the young Pulsifer, he could arrange some more extra credit work, or take special measures for your final exam, maybe with some extra tutoring…”

“I’ve already talked with Mr. Pulsifer. He’s been going over my work and re-grading it since it became obvious that Sandalphon would do everything to make me fail the class. According to him, I’ll end the semester with a C if I continue on the same track.”

“Oh! Well, I’ll admit to being a little confused. What did you mean by flunk? With a C, even if Professor Sandalphon refuses to give you the extra credit for this Jurassic Park assignment you’ve mentioned, you would still pass the class.”

Hearing it laid out in plain terms like that, it all made perfect sense. That only makes Alexis feel like even more of an idiot. “It… it just… it’s the way he was talking… He wants to fail me, he’s wanted it since the first day of class, and…” And now they’re crying again. In front of Mr. Fell. Great.

They feel someone pressing fabric in their hands. It’s a handkerchief. Mr. Fell has a genuine handkerchief. Of course he does. Why are they surprised?

“I apologize, dear. Some people have the uncanny ability of finding our insecurities and using them against us. Turning the molehills of our souls into mountains, so to speak. Naturally, it’s upsetting. I wish I had better consolation for you. I can only advise you to be patient. The semester ends in a few weeks, you will pass your biology class, and then never have to deal with professor Sandalphon again.”

Alexis takes a deep breath, clearing away the crying jag as much as they could. “Right.” After a decisive nod, they finish the rest of their mug of tea in a few measured gulps. “Right. Back to work, then. I left all my stuff in the other room.”

“So you’re going to finish the extra credit assignment, then? You don’t technically have to.”

“I’m not a quitter!”

“Very well, then.” The two of them get up, Mr. Fell carrying his still mostly full mug. That’s unexpected, he’s usually pretty strict about foods and liquids anywhere outside of his office that isn’t also outside of the library. Maybe he figured that with Professor Crowley cracking the spine, the books are already a lost cause so it doesn’t matter anymore.

When they reach the backroom, it is obvious that Professor Crowley has been through their papers. Said papers are messed up in a completely different way than they were when Alexis went to Mr. Fell’s office.

“You know what, Ezra? I’ve been thinking; we should introduce Hastur to that Sandalphon fellow.”

“Why is that?”

“Come on! The bitter, humorless, rage-aholic archaeologist and the creationist biology professor who assigns Jurassic Park as extra reading? They’ll hate each other. They might just explode on contact, like sodium in water. It’ll be hilarious!”

“Or they might just become the best of friends.”

A beat, as Professor Crowley absorbs what Mr. Fell just said. Then, the sound that comes out of his mouth can best be described as the audible equivalent of a full-body shudder. “Angel,” he whines pitifully. “Why did you have to put that image in my brain?”

“Sharing is caring, my dear.”

Mr. Fell hands over the mug to Professor Crowley. He chugs the still pretty hot tea, draining the whole thing in one big gulp, as if he was a spaghetti-western cowboy downing a bottle of whiskey. “Anyway,” he gives the mug back to Mr. Fell, and points at Alexis. “You! You look. Page 202.”

“What?”

“Page 202. The thing about why T-Rex have vision based on movement, it’s on page 202.”

“It’s in the book!?!”

“The answer is always in the book. Well, almost always. Sometimes you don’t see it until later. Sometimes you have to squint a little, or shake a few things loose, or stretch the text a little.” 

Alexis pays very little attention to Professor Crowley, as they flip the paperback to page 202. The answer is indeed there, about two thirds of the way to the page. “The frog DNA? That’s it?”

“Yep.” Professor Crowley turns his attention back to the photocopier.

“And it’s not just the T-Rex. All dinosaurs have vision based on movement, just like they can all switch genitals in order to procreate in an all-female environment.”

“Correct. The frog DNA causes the most problem, by making it impossible to control the dinosaur population, and also gives them a chance to survive when faced with the apex predator. You know, someone who wanted to suck up to the creationist biology teacher could convincingly craft an essay on the theme of Jurassic Park being the futility of man attempting to meddle with the natural order of things. Life finds a way, and all that nonsense.”

Sucking up to Professor Sandalphon is not appealing in and of itself, but anything that reduces the chances of being verbally torn apart by a vindictive professor just before finals season is something worth considering.

“Professor Crowley, your tone implies that this is not, in fact, the theme of Jurassic Park. What makes you say that? I mean, it is the theme of the movie.”

“The book is not the movie. And like I said, you can argue that it is the theme. I just happen to think that there’s another, more interesting one.”

“Look at it this way, dear,” Mr. Fell takes up where Professor Crowley leaves off. “There is one character in the book who controls the scientists, and all the other experts, by the means of paying them. Even the best scientists, the protagonists, are employed by this character, as consultants if nothing else.”

“You mean Hammond, the grandfather guy?”

“Exactly. I’m not sure how far along you got in the book, but you might have noticed that he is rather different than his movie counterpart.”

“What the angel is trying not to say is that book Hammond is the most evil version of Walt Disney ever conceived, and Uncle Walt was arguably pretty evil to begin with.”

“Thank you, Anthony. Mr. Hammond wants to use the knowledge that others have cultivated for him, market it as entertainment to avoid government oversight, and then sell it for as much money as possible. Reading the events of the book through his experience, one could build an essay around the danger of leaving science in the hands of the rich and the mercenary. That knowledge of any kind should not be merely the privilege of the very rich, but a right accorded to all.”

Professor Crowley turns to look at Mr. Fell, who smiles beatifically at him. The return smile is less obvious but just as soft. “You shouldn’t be giving them the answers, Ezra.”

“It would only be giving answers if they intended to write the Hammond-theme essay. Alexis is going to try to appease Professor Sandalphon by writing the “Life finds a way” essay. Isn’t that so?”

Alexis has to jerk themselves out of the fuzzy aura that the two men emit with their obvious love for each other, and get their head back in the game. “Yeah, yeah, I am. I should get started on that, right now. I’ll just sit down here and get started.”

And they do, sitting in the backroom of the campus library, while Mr. Fell frets over the new textbooks with the now damaged spines and brings mugs of tea to Professor Crowley who spends the rest of the day calling out random bits of trivia from said textbooks as he copies them. In an almost miraculous turn of event, their mood as made a complete 180 turn, from the upset and discouraged to the cheerful and determined.


End file.
